The Waltons 2 - Trouble on the Mountain (13 page)

John-Boy shook his head. “I reckon giving them a million dollars’ worth of firewood wouldn’t make any difference. They’re just going to feel like they betrayed their daddy, and they’re never going to trust me again. I don’t reckon they’ll ever trust anybody again. At least not with any of their daddy’s things.”

His father nodded and then suddenly straightened and hit the brakes of the truck. “Ain’t that your grandma up ahead there?”

It was Grandma. They had just passed Ike Godsey’s store, and she was walking toward home, moving along at a fast, angry pace. She was wearing her best hat, and looked like she was all dressed up.

“Hey, Mama!” John called as he pulled up alongside her. “What’re you doing out here?”

John-Boy got out to let her climb into the truck. She looked like she was ready for dragon-fighting again.

“I’m going home, that’s what I’m doing. I’m going home, and I’m staying there!”

John started the truck again.

“What happened? Where’s Grandpa?”

“Don’t even mention that man’s name to me!”

John drove in silence for a minute, giving her a chance to calm down. “Did you talk to him?”

“No, I didn’t talk to him.”

“You mean you walked all the way down to Ike’s and then didn’t talk to him?”

“Hmph!” she snorted. “I walked all the way down to Ike’s all right. The electricity came on today. The man came out and turned it back on, and Livvy told me all about what happened. A lot of foolishness, that’s what it was. I’ll grant you, I done my part of the foolishness, not letting him tell me why he was over to Charlottesville yesterday. But it was just plain orneriness for him not to let anybody else tell me about it.”

“Yes, I’ll agree to that, Mama.”

“But I got to feeling guilty anyway. In spite of the fact that he spent the whole day with those two women, and in spite of the fact that he snuck out there with John-Boy and borrowed their typewriting machine the day before—in spite of all that, I still got to feeling sorry for that old man. Some of the foolishness was mine, and I was ready to apologize for it. So I got myself dressed, and I walked all the way down there to show him I was ready to give in and to forgive. Hmph!”

Her face reddened again and she glared narrowly through the windshield.

“What’d he say?”

“Didn’t say nothing! Didn’t say nothing, ’cause he wasn’t even there!”

“Where’d he go?”

“Where do you think he went? Same place he’s been going for the past two days—out to see those two women!”

John-Boy groaned inwardly. When he’d gotten home from Ike’s this morning he had told his mother what Grandpa had said, and he thought that would be the end of it. Once the lights were turned back on, he was sure Grandma would go apologize. Grandpa would accept, they would come home, and the matter would be forgotten.

“How do you know he went out to the Baldwins’?” John asked.

“ ’Cause Ike told me so, that’s how! The old man said something silly about how he bought something in Charlottesville and he forgot and left it in their car. So he was going back out there to get it.”

John sighed. “It might be true, Mama.”

“Hmph! It might be true there’s a Santa Claus, too. But I ain’t never seen him. And I ain’t never seen Mr. Zebulon Walton have any trouble making up stories when he feels like going out and galavanting with a couple of sinful old ladies who make bootleg whiskey!”

John made no response. The way she looked at it, Esther Walton had been deceived, swindled, and mocked just one too many times for her pride to endure. There was no sense trying to convince her otherwise. He parked the truck by the sawmill, and as quickly as they got out, Mary Ellen, Erin, Elizabeth and Jim-Bob came racing out the back door.

No, John told them, they didn’t find the typewriter. And, no, they weren’t going to try to find Mr. Davidson, the man who bought the junk from Jake Levy. It was gone, John told them, and the best thing to do was to forget about it.

Grandma moved directly through the kitchen and on to her room before anyone realized she had come home alone. Then John had to explain that disaster.

Olivia took it the hardest. “And she spent an hour and a half getting herself all dressed up,” she said wearily. “John, do you think it might be true—that he left something out at the Baldwins’?”

“Livvy, I got beyond trying to figure out what’s in Papa’s head. And to tell you the truth, I’m almost beyond caring much anymore. In my mind, this whole thing’s getting to be purely childish.”

He got himself a cup of hot coffee from the stove. When he came back to the table, he was being regarded by eight anxious faces.

“Now look,” he said defensively, “I ain’t saying I don’t want Grandpa to come home. I do. But I don’t see any reason for everybody to be moaning and groaning, or to get all teary about this thing. They’re just having a misunderstanding and a little spat, just like everybody else in the world has at some time or another. And it seems to me, the more we keep out of it, the faster they’ll be getting together again.”

“But what if Grandpa really did leave something out at the Baldwins’?” Mary Ellen asked.

“What if he did?”

“Maybe it’s something he bought for Grandma.”

“Okay, maybe it is. Then I expect that after he fetches it he’ll bring it on home to her.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jason said.

John gave him a hard look. Now it appeared that everyone in the family was going to start taking sides. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I think Grandpa’s right. He went out and worked to earn money so we could get the electricity turned on. And the only reason he went over to the Baldwins’ that first day was to help John-Boy out by getting him a typewriting machine.”

“But he could have told Grandma that,” Erin said defiantly.

“That’s right,” Mary Ellen agreed. “And it’s just plain stubbornness for him to sleep on Ike’s pool table all night. He’s just making himself miserable so Grandma’ll feel sorry for him.”

“Well, she’s the one that told him to get out,” Ben countered.

“She did not! She just told him to sleep on the couch!”

“Why should he?!”

John had his hand in the air. “Hold it. Everybody just please hold it for a minute.”

The warriors eased back in their chairs, and John smiled wearily. “If you all don’t mind, I’d rather this battle just be limited to Grandpa and Grandma.”

“Well, Jason started it. He said Grandpa shouldn’t come home.”

“I did not!”

John dug into his pocket and brought out the truck keys. “John-Boy, will you drive on over to the Baldwins’ and find your grandpa? Tell him he’s got to come home because everyone here’s fighting with each other.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Olivia said quickly.

“Why not?”

“If he thinks everyone’s fighting, I don’t think he’ll ever come home.”

John nodded, ready to agree to anything if it would bring peace. “Okay, John-Boy. Tell him anything you want, but just get him home.”

“Tell him we all love him, and we miss him very much,” Olivia said. “And be sure to tell him Grandma walked down to Ike’s to apologize.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“And while you’re there,” John added, “you might as well tell the Baldwin ladies what happened to their typewriting machine.”

The suggestion sent a stab of apprehension into John-Boy’s stomach. It seemed to have the same effect on the girls and Jim-Bob.

“Can’t we wait a couple of days?” Mary Ellen asked.

“What for?”

“Well . . . maybe it’ll turn up somewhere.”

“There’s no use making John-Boy do it if we find the typewriter,” Erin added.

John shook his head. “That typewriting machine is gone. Now I don’t want to hear anymore talk about it. I don’t even want it mentioned around here anymore. John-Boy, you’d better get going.”

“Why, John-Boy Walton!” Miss Mamie said at the door. “You and your grandpa are just getting to be steady callers! What a delight!”

“Come on right in,” Miss Emily said. “I’ll just bet you’ll never guess who’s sitting right here in our living room!”

“I reckon it’s my grandpa. Hey, Grandpa.”

He was sitting in one of the love seats, his arms spread across the back.

“ ’Lo there, John-Boy. How’s everybody at home?”

“They’re fine, Grandpa.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m mighty glad to hear that. Wouldn’t want them to be upset over anything.”

“But everybody misses you, Grandpa.”

“Hmph!”

“We’re just having such a lovely sipping visit,” Miss Mamie smiled. “You just sit down right there, and I’ll get you some lemonade.”

John-Boy sat on the edge of the chair. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was a half-empty mason jar on the table with three glasses beside it. “I think I’d better be getting on home, Miss Mamie. I thought I’d give Grandpa a ride.”

“Oh, do you have to go, Zebulon?”

Grandpa shook his head. “Nope. I reckon my time is my own. Ain’t no place I have to go.”

“There now,” Miss Emily said cheerily, “you can both stay.”

John-Boy looked at Grandpa and then spotted the package all wrapped with ribbons on the table. He wondered if that was what Grandpa came back for.

“Now, how is your typing coming along, John-Boy?” Miss Mamie asked. “Surely you must be finished by now.”

John-Boy’s heart leaped into his throat. He tried to swallow, but the words still came out squeakily. “Well, Miss Mamie, I wanted to tell you about that. Something has happened that . . .”

“That’s right,” Grandpa interrupted. “By golly, I was going to tell the ladies about that, but the whole thing completely slipped my mind.”

“Grandpa, I think I’d better . . .”

“No, no, John-Boy, let me tell them.”

“What on earth has happened?” Miss Emily said with alarm. “Surely it’s not papa’s typewriting machine!”

“No, no, no, no,” Grandpa laughed. “I can assure you, ladies, that Judge Baldwin’s typewriting machine is perfectly safe. And in fine working order.”

“Grandpa . . .”

“Let me tell it, John-Boy. You see, ladies, poor John-Boy is embarrassed. But it is a matter of no concern.”

“Whatever is it?” Miss Mamie asked.

Grandpa took a deep sip from his glass and returned it to the table. “Ahh. I believe that is the finest batch you have ever made, ladies. I wouldn’t have believed you could have surpassed yourself, but you have.”

“Why, thank you, Zebulon. But you were going to tell us about Papa’s typewriting machine?”

John-Boy eased back in his chair with a sudden feeling of doom. Whatever Grandpa was going to say, he was certain it was just going to make matters worse.

“Ahh, yes, the typewriting machine. It seems that when John-Boy put the paper into the machine, he put all of it in upside down.” Grandpa laughed, but the ladies were frowning. “So you see,” he went on, “when he got through typing his story, why, everything was wrong side up.”

“Oh,” Miss Mamie said uncertainly.

“So now he’s going to have to type the whole thing over again.”

They appeared a little relieved, but gave John-Boy hesitant glances.

“A matter of only two or three more days,” Grandpa smiled. “And I assured John-Boy that you ladies wouldn’t mind. After all, the story is about the Recipe, and I was thinking about how happy your papa would be to know it was written right side up.”

“Yes,” Miss Mamie said. “But Zebulon, couldn’t you just turn the paper right side up again after the story was typed?”

“Yes, yes we thought about that,” Grandpa said, “but then it seemed better to have it done right in the first place. I’d sure hate to have them New York Yankees forming the opinion that Virginia folks don’t know up from down.”

“Well, yes,” Miss Emily said uncertainly. Then she smiled and sighed heavily. “I declare, I never did understand how that machine worked. And I don’t guess two or three days makes that much difference.”

“But you’ll bring it back just as soon as you can, won’t you, John-Boy?”

John-Boy nodded and tried to smile. Agreeing to her question was not exactly a lie. He would bring it back just as soon as he could.

“There you are, John-Boy,” Grandpa said. “There was no reason at all to be nervous, was there?”

John-Boy couldn’t look at the two ladies. He glared at Grandpa for an instant, then rose. “Grandpa, I’m going home. If you’re in a mind to come along, you’re welcome. If not . . .”

“I’ll be coming along, John-Boy.” He struggled to his feet. “Ladies, you’ve been most charming, as usual. And I’m much obliged for the refreshments.”

“You’re ever so welcome, Zebulon. And do give our very best to Esther and your lovely family.”

“I will do that.”

“Oh, and don’t forget your present.” Miss Emily laughed. “That’s why you came all the way out here in the first place.”

“Now, now,” Grandpa said, pulling his coat on and taking the package. “That just might have been my excuse so’s I could visit the two most lovely ladies in Jefferson County.”

“Oh, now you go along, Zebulon. I just bet you say that to just ever’body.”

“Bye, Miss Emily, Miss Mamie,” John-Boy said before Grandpa could lay on any more of the syrup.

Once they were down the steps, Grandpa put a hand on John-Boy’s shoulder. “Not so fast, John-Boy. It’s been a long day, and I’m weary.”

“It’s sure enough been a long day,” John-Boy agreed.

“And it’s not over yet,” Grandpa said.

John-Boy wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But once he got the truck going John-Boy threw him an angry glance. “What’d you go and do that for, Grandpa?”

“Do what?”

“Tell that cock and bull story about the typewriter.”

“I did it for you. We had to tell them something.”

“But you just made it worse. I was going to tell them exactly what happened and get it all over with.”

Grandpa shook his head. “Oh, you’d have broken their hearts, John-Boy.”

“Well, maybe so, Grandpa, but they’ve got to be told some time. That typewriter is gone. Jake Levy sold it to some other junk man, and he’s driven off to Pennsylvania or someplace with it. So we just can’t go on lying to Miss Mamie and Miss Emily.”

“Why not?”

John-Boy looked sharply at him. But Grandpa seemed to be thinking about other things. The package was sitting squarely in his lap and he was gazing into the darkness through the far window.